


The Bird Guy

by RedLaces



Series: Lovely Little Ficlets: Life coaches [2]
Category: Nothing Much to Do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLaces/pseuds/RedLaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He nodded, unable to remove the worried look from his face. “I’m getting a bird.”<br/>“Yup, and at a decent price too. I know a guy.” She jerked her chin, looking all-too-proud of herself.<br/>“You’re friends with a bird dealer?” John couldn’t help catching her smile.<br/>“Cockatiel, specifically."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bird Guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theperksofbeingabooknerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theperksofbeingabooknerd/gifts).



John held his shoes in one hand, creeping slowly down the hallway towards the door. His socks pressed silently passed the only open door in the house, which displayed a sleeping Pedro splayed across the bottom half of his bed, his hands reaching for his pillow with his long legs dangling off the end. His awkward position stimulated a light snoring, and a lovely drip of drool hanging gently from the corner of his mouth.

John took four steps passed it before he stopped. He held an internal debate in his head which finished with him poorly executing a moonwalk back to the door, pulling out his new iPhone 6 and snapping a photo. He was just learning how to do this ‘little brother’ thing, and for the most part it sucked, but he wasn’t going to pass up what was probably going to be the highlight of this new, complicated relationship: the rite of passage known as blackmail. He was probably going to need to get out of something Mr. Donaldson wanted him to do sooner or later. This beautiful photo and the ability to post it to Facebook would likely make that problem float away.

It’s not that he didn’t like Pedro. It’s just that he represented everything that John had worked against his entire life.

Okay. So that looks a lot like dislike. Maybe it was.

Pedro was the king.

No. Not a king. A king, by its truest definition, rules. He makes decisions, he’s intelligent, he loves his people, he’s a leader, and ultimately he suffers the consequences of his mistakes, and sacrifices his life to live as the personification of his kingdom.

Pedro was a Prince. He wears the crown, dons the name but saddles none of the responsibility.

John knew from the moment he heard about Pedro from his aunt who this boy was.

 

“You’ve got a brother, John.” His aunt says more with her eyes, alike chestnuts both in colour and shape, peering over the rim of her green mug, than with her words. She exclaims, ‘this is your chance”, she whimpers “I’m sorry I can’t be enough”, she screams “Why should I have to be?”, and she whispers “Get out whilst you still can”.

He already knows the only part that she’s vocalised, that she’s thrust into his hands instead of hanging in the air for him to choose to take, is the only part that’s false. He hasn’t got a brother. He has brothers. And whoever this person is, he isn’t one of them. His brothers are waiting on the other side of a computer screen, in London, Dublin, Cork and Cardiff. They’re waiting for him to come back to them and tell them what’s happening. Because they care about him. Because they’ve known him since their first day of Junior Infants and that’s what makes them his brothers.

But Kathy is sitting on a couch that feels new despite being five years old. And she’s drinking the fifth cup of tea she’s drunk since she was fourteen. And she hasn’t pulled the size sticker off the ‘old shirt’ she’s been wearing as pyjamas for the last week.She’s drumming her fingers on her mug to keep from thinking about the twelve that are piled up next to the sink. And he knows that once he’s gone she’s going to spend half an hour making sure her boss and all her employees don’t think she’s died. So he asks the question she wants to hear.

“What’s his name?” He picks at the loose thread on the left cuff of his trousers.

She smiles and leans in, like it’s a secret. “Peter.”

John can’t help the way his lips curl a little. Two biblical kids, what are the odds?

“But get this,” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Everyone calls him ‘Pedro’. Isn’t that so interesting?”

“Oh,” He made an ‘o’ with his mouth. “Wow, that’s- Yeah.”

“He’s the most popular guy at his school. Captain of the football team, keeps good grades, and, according to his dad, about to he elected ‘Student Leader’, which is pretty much-”

“Head Boy.” John finished, curling his lip instinctively.

“Doesn’t he sound amazing? You could fit right in at school with a brother like that.”

All of sudden all John could see was him sitting on a tiny thrown with a tiny crown and a little cloak next to a beautiful blonde king.

“Yay.”

 

As John stood in the doorway of his brother’s room, dressed in dark blue jeans and a faded, dark grey shirt, looking into his brother’s blue and pink room, he recognised the second part of Pedro that made him irrationally bitter just looking at him: he was the spitting image of Daniel, his father.

Pedro was blond hair, broad shoulders and a head he regularly threw back in laughter. Daniel was the rich, successful business man who’d strolled into an English pub one night looking for an excuse. A girl with a short enough skirt to justify the glint in his eyes, hair dark enough to mask the shadows that hung beneath them, and a smile bright enough to fade the tan marks on his left fourth finger. John was dark hair, skinny, gangly limbs and a permanent urge to duck and hide his face. Jess was the girl with the crooked grin, coffee breath and the concealer packed beneath her lashes to blur the mathematical equations that spun in her head from three days of constant study and one final exam. She was the girl with the sharp wit on a soft british tongue and something to celebrate but no one to celebrate with.

John shook his head, and walked to the front door, forgetting his attempts at silence. He reached blindly into the glass bowl on the table next to the door, taking whatever keys caught on his fingers and pulling the door open.

He jumped the two steps and sat down on them, pulling his sneakers on roughly and depositing the keys in his already brimming pockets. He didn’t do bags, just large coats and big pockets. When he stood up again, he found that he wasn’t alone on the Donaldson driveway. Standing near the gate, leaning against her bright green bike, was Hero, with a hand over her face as she read something on her phone. John stepped onto the gravel, waiting for her to look up as it crunched under his feet taking the few steps towards her. He reached her and realised why she hadn’t looked up when he spotted the white piece of plastic in her ear.

He bent down and looked up at her. Her gaze shifted slightly to the left and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Gooooooood morning,” He grinned as she ripped the headphones from her ears.

“It was until you had to go and give me a heart attack!” She wound the cord around her phone and dropped it into the backpack in her basket.

“Ah, it’s always good to restart the old pacemaker in the mornings!” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “So, I’ll address the elephant in the room-”

“We’re outside.”

“What are you doing here?” He pressed, furrowing his eyebrows. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, Duke, but people usually arrange this kind of stuff.”

Hero cocked her head to the side. “We did.”

“Uh, no,” John shook his head. “No we didn’t.”

“You said you were thinking about getting a pet bird.”

John recalled their skype conversation the night before. “No, I said I joked about getting a bird, because we were talking about how even seeing one makes Daniel catatonic.”

“And I as your life coach said that I would make you carry that through. So,” She took hooked a leg over her bike and kicked up the stand. “C’mon!” She pedalled in a circle and headed out on the street.

“I thought you were also joking!” He called after her. “I thought it was a series of jokes! You know, like a witty conversation? Hero, I don’t want a bird!”

“Last night you said you’d never wanted anymore in the world.” She was already halfway up the street.

“Joking, Hero! JOKING!” He ran to the edge of the road, and saw her turn the corner at the end. “Duke, you are going to be the death of me,” He cursed, running back to the side of the house and unclipping his bike chain from the fence. He slid on, cursing his jacket choice, and sped off after her.

 

“Thank god,” She said as he pulled up next to her, slowing his pace to hers. “I thought I was gonna have to go back.”

“Nope, you’ve roped be in.” he nodded, unable to remove the worried look from his face. “I’m getting a bird.”

“Yup, and at a decent price too. I know a guy.” She jerked her chin, looking all-too-proud of herself.

“You’re friends with a bird dealer?” John couldn’t help catching her smile.

“Cockatiel, specifically. Turning left up here.” She held up her left arm and curved smoothly onto the smaller road. He flicked his blinker quickly, following her.

“You wouldn’t happen to also know the local weed guy?” He tried.

She turned to him. “You smoke?”

He shrugged, “occasionally. My friend’s older sister is the main distributor for our area back in Bath. Don’t worry, I’m not actually-”

“-go up four streets, turn left, the house with the bright blue door.” Hero said, completely stone-faced.

John almost steered into oncoming traffic.

“Relax, my cousin had to track him down a year ago on a dare. He’s actually really nice, we meet up once a week to watch Disney classics, and to pick up a couple grams for Leo and Louise, my mum.”

John shook his head slowly, “You’re amazing.”

Hero faltered slightly, but kept moving. “Okay, his name is James. Next right and his house is on the left.”

“What does it look like?”

“Trust me. You’ll know it when you see it.” She held up her right arm.

 

She wasn’t wrong. Every garden on the street had a relatively flat frontyard, until you got to James’ place. It Where his property meet the footpath the cage started. Straight up, ten feet of chained fence wrapping around until it reached the house, some five metres set into the property. The top was covered with much stronger fencing. Inside was some twenty birds. Ranging from golden canaries that John could have cupped in one hand to blue and red parrots that could probably kill him with enough motivation. He was both gobsmacked and terrified. He saw one brilliant green one, a decent size, attached to the side of the cage. It moved it’s head back and forth and all of a sudden leapt off, soaring down and revealing a set of bright, multi-coloured wings. It perched on a low-lying branch of one of the two trees in the space. John felt like he was he’d been punched in the throat.

Hero barely glanced at him or the cage, pulling her bike up next to it and fishing a red bike chain out of her backpack. Once it was clipped in place she scooped up the bag and slung it over her shoulder. She stood in front of the door and typed the code in. John was at a loss as to how this wasn’t completely blowing her mind, until she she turned around and grinned. “Pretty cool, huh?”

All he could do was nod, and push the door open.

He expected all the birds to come flying at the doorway at once, but they barely registered it. Hero closed the door quickly and strolled to the other end of the habitat. On the way, a few canaries came and perched on her bag.

“How often are you here?” He said, breathlessly.

“What?” She turned slightly. Spotting the birds, she nodded in understanding. “Don’t worry, they can smell the treats I made.” She turned back and opened the front door. John followed quickly behind her.

John squinted as every light in the house started to flash, but Hero didn’t bat an eyelid, skipping down the hall into what John could see was the kitchen. John ran after her, stopping in the doorway.

Hero went immediately to the cupboard and started to pull out tea bags and a jar of honey.

“Just sit down there.” She jerked her chin at the island bench seats. He walked over and took off his jacket, setting it down on one chair and sitting on the other. The lights stopped flashing and John got a proper look around the room. It was a pale yellow colour, similar to the canaries that still poked at Hero’s backpack. It looked relatively old, but still well maintained, and updated with your usual kettle, microwave and toaster. Hero seemed to feel perfectly at home in it, putting on the kettle and slinging off her backpack to retrieve her treats.

Something wasn’t quite right with the room, and John couldn’t figure out what it was until out of the corner of his eye he saw something move.

He jumped suddenly. There were birds. Birds inside. Birds, everywhere. Cockatiels, to be specific. They were so calm, just going about their business, like they owned the place. He found it weirdly charming.

“James will be down in a minute. He’s seen the bell, he just likes to take his time.” She pulled out three mugs and set them on the bench, dropping tea bags into them.

“And he likes you to make tea for when he comes down?” John made a face.

Hero glared at him. “No, I like to. It’s a nice thing to do and James is my friend.”

“Right, sorry.” John apologized. “So, how do you know James?”

“Through Andy, the weed guy. james used to babysit Andy, and they’ve never really lost touch. They’re both kind of on the outskirts of society, it’s really quite amazing.”

“You’re right.” A throaty voice called from behind them, “I really am quite amazing.”

“James!” Hero exclaimed waving her hands weirdly and running over to hug her friend. John turned in his seat and saw a handsome man in his thirties, standing in a blue dressing gown and stripey red pyjamas.

She stepped back, bring her hands up to her chest. “It’s so good to see you!” She said, moving her hands again. No. Signing. Hero was signing.

He signed quickly, gesturing to his attire.

“It is 9:30!” She exclaimed, slightly slower than usual, to keep up with her signing.

He tilted his head, turning his gaze on John, and then back to Hero. He signed something else, and Hero turned to him.

“John!” She remembered, walking back over to him. “This is James. Oh! James is deaf! I forgot to mention.”

John nodded, “That explains the lights.” He made a ‘flashing’ motion, with his hands. James laughed, nodding erratically. He signed something to John who, at a loss, turned to Hero.

“He says he’s sorry if he gave you a fright.” Hero grinned.

“Tell him that’s okay.” John smiled. James smiled.

“James can lipread,” Hero explained. “And I’ll just translate for you. I’m still not fluent, but I’m getting there.” She signed away, turning back to James. “I’m making tea.”

The kettle started to whistle. And a bright green light on the handle flashed.

“That would be the tea!” She signed and spoke. “C’mon, sit down, we’ve got some stuff to discuss.”

They sat for a while, talking about various things. John introduced himself and gave an abridged version of how he ended up in Messina. James pointed at him and made an excited face, signing to Hero who burst out laughing. John looked to her expectantly.

“He says,” She tried to get out the words between gasps for air. “he says he knew there was something wrong with your face!”

John made a horrified expression, looking James straight on. “British people do not have stupid faces, sir!”

Both James and Hero shook their heads, laughing harder. John was at a loss.

“He means your mouth makes different shapes when you talk, because of your accent.” Hero explained.

“Oh,” John replied meekly. “Sorry, James.”

Then conversation went to the bird that he wanted.

“You were thinking something small, weren’t you?” Hero made a ‘small’ gesture with her hands.

“I was, yeah, something, um-” he cupped his hands around his mouth and looked to James. “loud.” He said at a normal noise level. James nodded, signing to Hero.

“He says he’s got more than a couple of those, so the neighbours say.” She smiled.

“Actually, um-” He looked at both James and Hero, who studied him. “There was one outside, that I was hoping I could take a look at?”

Hero frowned, shaking her head. “Those are more expensive, and James is more attached-”

James held up a hand to Hero. Gesturing for John to continue.

“Well, um, I don’t really know-” He looked at Hero, whose brow was furrowed in concentration as she translated their conversation. He looked at James, whose gaze kept flicking between John’s eyes and Hero’s hands. He sighed in frustration. This wasn’t an effective way to have a conversation. “Can I show you which one?”

James nodded, and they headed back through the house, John leading, Hero tailing.

John pushed open the door and began to look for his bird. It wasn’t on the branch where it had been when he went inside, but after a second he saw it, sitting on the window sill. He pointed at it.

James followed his point and, looking back at the teenage boy, gave him a knowing smirk. He copied John’s ‘loud’ gesture, and then pulled his hands together and apart, gesturing ‘bigger’. He made eye contact with the bird, and held out his arm, clicking his fingers together twice. The bird took off, flying smoothly towards James and landing on his forearm.

“A rainbow lorikeet.” Hero laughed slightly, staring at the bird.

James winked, and tickled the bird just under his wing. It swung open its beak and neither John or Hero were prepared for the noise that came out of its mouth.

Loud, strangled, worse than nails on chalkboard. John and Hero both keeled over, covering their ears. After a moment James let his tickling hand fall to his side, and the bird immediately stopped.

James walked over to John and tapped his shoulder twice, dropping the forearm that the bird stood on. It took off and, after batting John in the face, stood on his shoulder.

John looked at the bird.

The bird looked at John.

John remembered again why this bird was important. He heard his mother laugh and he smiled slightly. “Jess. Your name is Jess.”

“Um, John?” Hero stepped forward. “Isn’t that, isn’t that your mum’s name?”

John looked at her. She was standing in the doorway, leaning against it, feeding her treats to the canaries.

“Yeah?”

“Can I offer you advice, as your life coach?”

John paused for a moment, before nodding.

“Don’t let your mum live on in a bird.” Hero tilted her head to the side, laughing slightly.

John frowned for a moment, but found sense in her words. He shouldn’t name the bird after his dead mum. That was weird.

“How about…” Hero looked up, and then smiled. “How about Bex?” She finger-spelt the name so James could see.

The bird turned from John to Hero.

John smiled. “I think that’s two ‘yes’s for Bex. What do you think James?” He turned back to the man, who looked to Hero for repetition of John’s question, before nodding.

“Well,” he turned his head back to the bird. “Bex, I guess I’m outvoted.”

 

 

 


End file.
